V
How could I tell if I was going to wriggle my body
to the sounds of hip hop,
when your hips declined twisting to Tupac’s “Ghetto Gospel”….
We are back on the road beyond Alexandria’s turning
when we find the road sign, “God says …” in Afrikaans,
as if the Xhosa God speaks in Afrikaans.
Exiting Charles Dickens’ Bleak House,
you remind me of the unity and complimentarily
of the races and our common humanity;
in the unity of flesh, not in the crushing of bones,
in the meeting of minds, where reason is owned by all,
and rationality does not steal the other’s ration.
The hands open for the embrace of a multiple heritage,
do not grab the bow legs of a rainbow nation.
The orifices of history remind us of the
morticians of the nation, who are beckoned to carry their throne,
throne of the nation,
beyond the pale of colors.
Beyond the sheer futility of the
cacophony of the new ecclesiastics of color,
the foaming waves at Port Alfred and the white-bellies of the
clouds at Grahamstown all remind me of what I wanted to buy
for you,
but I could not ask for your sizes….
Quite an educational piece…
If I could burglarize your mind and steal its secrets,
I would return in the morning,
temporarily penitent like the Pentecostalist, until the next sin.